


Midnight (Visual Prompt: Night Sky)

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Destiel Daily Drabble - Destiel Smut Brigade [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel Daily Drabble, Dreams, Ficlet, Inspired by Photography, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a dream. It has to be a dream, that’s the only explanation there is. The last he remembered, he was asleep in some motel outside of Holdrege, and the next, he’s staring up at the stars in absolute reverence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight (Visual Prompt: Night Sky)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: [Visual Prompt: Night Sky](http://destielsmutbrigade.tumblr.com/post/116022001408/april-10th-daily-destiel-drabble-prompt)

It’s a dream. It has to be a dream, that’s the only explanation there is. The last he remembered, he was asleep in some motel outside of Holdrege, and the next, he’s staring up at the stars in absolute reverence. It reminds him of Purgatory, he thinks to himself, eyes to the sky, dip-dyed in purples and blues, pink clouds spreading in waves across the abyss looming over the treetops. White specks dot the display in every direction, twinkling in and out of view with each swirl of magentas and mauves, turquoise and teal bleeding in, casting the forest in an eerily familiar hue.

He remembers this – it couldn't be possible, could it? Had his heart finally given out in the middle of the night? Though, if he _were_ dead, he wouldn't have felt the briskness of the night air on his bare arms, flannel left on the floor beside his bed for the night. He stands there in the woods of some unknown landscape, bare feet wrinkling dead and dying leaves, hands hanging at his sides, occasionally clenching the fabric of his briefs. _I’m not dead_ , he repeats, blowing a hot breath into the chilled air. _This isn’t Heaven._

“You’re right.” On edge, Dean turns to face the abrupt noise, the gravel of that voice recognizable anywhere. Castiel stands five feet from him, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, eyes the same shade of azure that swirls above him, streaming like water. He smiles and steps closer into Dean’s space, hands coming to clasp his own, warm in the night. “You’re not in Heaven. You’re dreaming.”

“Hell of a dream, man,” Dean breathes, lowering his head. Castiel reaches up to cup his cheek, fingers stroking light against the curve of his ear; Dean falls into his touch, sighing in the fading space between them. “So’s this _you_ , or dream you?”

“It’s just me.” Castiel kisses him then, gentle at first, and Dean draws his hands up to palm his cheeks, coming to rest at his neck, teasing the hair curling at his nape. Castiel pulls back after their lips are slick and shining, barely a breath away from touching again. “You’re safe here.”

“Why’re you in my head?” Castiel pulls him into another kiss in reply, hands trailing down Dean’s clothed back, fingers skirting beneath the cheap fabric of his shirt to tease at his hips. They press together there in the wilderness, Dean’s hands helping to shrug off Castiel’s coat, jacket, undoing each button of his shirt with adoration, until he’s bare to the night.

It’s his dream – he could have willed them undressed in a moments notice, but here, he wants to take his time. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone walking in, doesn't have to fear what’s lurking around the corner. Here, he can kiss Castiel without judgment, run his fingers down the tanned skin of his stomach, cup the warmth straining between his legs through worn slacks. He earns a soft moan in return, Castiel returning the favor and ridding Dean of his shirt, tossing it into the growing pile beneath their feet.

Castiel lays him out on his coat as soon as they’re fully undressed, foliage crumbling from the new weight until Castiel hovers over him, mouthing at his neck, drawing inarticulate whimpers from his lips. “You were calling for me,” the Angel murmurs, sucking a mark beneath his ear; Dean arches up with a moan and slots their hips together, pressing his fingers into Castiel’s bare shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. Above, as Castiel palms his way down his chest, he catches sight of the sky, brilliant streaks of white piercing the scenery, the tops of bare branches blowing in the breeze.

It’s a beautiful sight, he muses, leaning his head back on the tail end of a whine. Castiel successfully pulls him from his vigil with a series of kisses down his chest, lapping at his nipple before dipping his tongue into his navel, all while keeping their eyes locked. Dean cards his hands through Castiel’s dark hair and tugs at the strands, halfhearted, panting hot breaths out of sync with his erratic heart; Castiel just smiles and smooths his palms over Dean’s hips, pressing his lips to the head of his cock, warm and wet against his mouth.

“Cas,” he breathes at first, unsure; he steadies himself with a sharper tug to Castiel’s hair, stroking his fingers down the Angel’s cheek, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth. “ _Cas_.”

Castiel just smiles, a small thing, and kisses his cockhead again, sucking precum from the tip and trapping it between his lips. And with a shout, Dean arches his back and grips Castiel tight, letting the sight of the sky fill his vision while Castiel swallows him down in full, until he closes his eyes and he’s left with nothing to do but _feel_.

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Destiel Smut Brigade's](http://destielsmutbrigade.tumblr.com/) daily drabble challenge.
> 
> Please stop me from writing in present tense, I'm so confused.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
